Complications
by Jalos
Summary: When a woman with a dangerous secret takes an interest in Nathan Steele, the civilian alias of Dallas, how will the crew be affected? An action thriller with possible hints of romance, this story explores the potentially disastrous consequences of living two lives. Loyalties will be tested, bonds will be strengthened, and, of course, many things will be stolen.


**Good evening ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. 'Tis I, Jalos, back again. I am truly very sorry for being gone for so long. Between college, summer work, a few illnesses, and several crises in my personal life that none of you are probably interested in, fanfiction kinda took a back burner for a while.**

And to those of you who read my Left 4 Dead stuff, I'm sorry but that's taking a back burner for now. I haven't felt inspired about any of those for a while. If enough of you want me to revive a particular story I'll do my best, but for now I'll be sticking with this new subject matter.

**One last thing before we get to the action - this story is rated T for violence, language, and possibly more to come. This rating is subject to change a later date. Consider yourself warned.**

**Enough boring stuff. On with the show!**

**~~o~~**

Jeff was one of three guards working the afternoon shift at the modest-sized Harvest & Trustee branch in D.C. It was three o'clock on a Saturday, and he was already itching to go home. He could feel his new boxed set of Breaking Bad sitting in his cabinet calling his name, waiting for him to sit down with a six-pack of Miller and a bag of Doritos and marathon it.

Letting out a long breath, he leaned against the wall, listening to the dull murmur of the tellers and customers babbling in the other room. His pager beeped, and he fished it from his belt, thumbing the 'talk' button. "What's up?"

"Just checking in," the operator said. "See anything out of the ordinary?"

"Hey, if I did, you'd be the first to know," Jeff quipped.

The operator sighed. "Good enough for me. See you for bowling later?"

Jeff chuckled. "That's an affirmative. Over and out."

No sooner had he returned the pager to its place on his belt when a noise caught his attention. He could barely make it out, but it was some kind of whirring, scraping sound... and it seemed to be coming from the roof.

Debating getting on the pager, he decided it was probably just the air conditioning acting weird but he should check on it anyway. As he climbed the stairs, his hand strayed to the grip of the pistol at his hip... he'd never yet had to use it on the job, thank goodness. Maybe it was just his nerves, but something seemed off today.

As he got to the top of the stairs, he saw it - a power drill in some kind of harness affixed to the door that led into the power room where the circuit breakers were. His fingers closed around the rubber grip of his pistol... and something hard impacted the back of his head at speed. He pitched forward without a sound, out cold before he hit the ground.

The man known to the world as Dallas knelt down next to the unconscious body, grabbing the poor sod by the arms and dragging him behind one of the large roof air conditioning units. Drawing his pistol again and walking out as Wolf tinkered with the drill, he asked "How long we got?"

"'Bout thirty seconds," the Swedish heister replied, without looking up.

Dallas checked his watch. 3:01. Everything was going according to plan... so far.

"Once you have the power off, we go in," he said. "Chains and I will hit the front lobby, you go in through the rear."

"Will Hoxton have security down by then?" Chains asked, working the bolt on his rifle.

"Come on, you could set your watch by that guy," Dallas replied with a chuckle. "If I told him you'd asked that, he'd probably be offended."

Chains shrugged. "Just makin' sure. Haven't worked with the guy as long as you."

Dallas sighed. "Look, I know we're all still sore about what happened... I mean, nobody was closer to that guy than me... but this guy's good, and I'm not just saying that because he's my brother. We've already been through a few jobs together, and he has yet to disappoint."

"Okay," Chains said, resting the rifle on his shoulder. "I trust you."

"We're in," Wolf said, breaking the tension. "Power to the vault's off."

"Awesome," Dallas said, and twirled his pistol like an old western gunslinger. "Let's get in there and torch some cartel money, shall we?"

"Don't see why we can't just steal it," Chains said, and Dallas shook his head.

"I wish we could too, buddy, but Bain says most of those bills are marked. Too easily traceable. Besides which, I'd really rather stay on Hector's good side, wouldn't you?"

Chains grunted in unenthusiastic agreement, and the two men headed for the stairs.

"Everybody, down on the ground!" Dallas yelled, firing a few rounds into the ceiling to make sure he got their attention. "And I mean right fuckin' now! Kiss the goddamn floor!"

Everyone did as they were told, except for one young man who looked paralyzed, staring at them with wide eyes. "You fuckin' deaf!?" Chains barked, getting in his face. "The man said get down, so unless you wanna be chewin' on a mouthful of lead, you better get _down!_"

He got down.

Dallas slipped into the tellers' office, trussing them up with plastic zipties and swiping all the loose cash from the sorting racks on his way back out. "In case any of you are thinking of being heroes... don't. We're not here for your money, we're here for the bank's money. Just stay the fuck down, and don't give me a reason to use this." He raised the pistol meaningfully, sighting experimentally down the barrel at one of the hostages. "I don't like making messes, but if one of you so much as fuckin' _looks_ at me wrong I will not hesitate to put you down."

"A little excessive, don't you think?"

Dallas turned to see his brother emerge from the hallway behind the tellers' office, suppressed sub-machine gun resting on his shoulder. "Maybe for you," he replied, throwing himself down in a chair and putting his feet up on another. "Not for me." Nodding in his brother's direction, he added "Nice work with security, by the way."

"Thanks," Hoxton replied curtly. "Wolf getting the lance set up?"

"Affirmative," Chains said with a nod. "We'll be out of here in no time."

The plan went off without a hitch. Dallas couldn't help feeling a little proud as the gang piled into the escape van and Twitch floored it. "Good hustle out there," he said, taking his mask off and running his latex-gloved hands through his hair to try and get it back into order. "Bet we'll have a hell of a payday waiting for us at the safe house."

Wolf let out a whoop, and banged the wall of the van a few times. "Hell yeah, baby! Kommer att bli rik som fan!"

Chains barked a laugh. "The hell does that even mean?"

Hoxton, ever the professional, was too busy dismantling his weapons to get involved.

"Hey, guys," Dallas cut in, clapping his hands together. "Let's talk business for a second. After we reach the safe house, do we all remember what we're doing?"

"Waiting one hour, going back to my apartment, and waiting for a phone call from you," Hoxton replied, without even having to think about it.

"Doing the same," said Chains, "But waiting two hours. What the hell am I supposed to do for two hours in the safe house, anyway?"

"I don't fucking know, practice on the firing range or something," Dallas said. "Jerk off for all I care. We don't want to all leave at the same time - too suspicious."

"And I'm staying there to fix up the drills," Wolf said. "I'll be the last one out, and lock the place up."

"Right," Dallas said. "And I'm going to meet one of Hector's men for dinner to arrange our reward, and maybe another job. I'll get in contact with all of you afterwards. And hey - have some fun tonight, alright? We did some damn fine work."

"Just don't get careless," Hoxton cautioned. "Everyone's going to be on alert so soon after today's job."

"Oh right, I forgot," Dallas muttered. "You don't know how to relax."

"Guy's got a point," Chains admitted.

Dallas sighed. "Yeah, yeah. So keep it low-key. Doesn't mean we can't kick back a little."

~~o~~

Dallas sat at his reserved table in the corner of Silverstone Restaurant and Grill, taking casual sips of his water every few minutes and covertly glancing around for his contact. He had changed suits and now wore a pinstriped charcoal-grey three-piece, his .45 in a concealed shoulder-hoster under his jacket. He felt naked going anywhere without a gun nowadays - besides which, in the business he was in, you never knew when you might have to defend yourself.

"Excuse me - are you Nathan Steele?"

Dallas froze. The voice was female, cultured, clipped. Professional. He glanced over to see a woman maybe in her mid-thirties dressed in what could best be described as business casual. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her blue eyes glittered with curiosity from behind her glasses. She didn't look like his contact, but he wasn't about to rule out the possibility.

Dallas put on his best friendly smile. "Yeah," he said. "That's me."

"So you were at First World Bank when it was hit by the Payday gang, right?" she asked.

He didn't let the jolt of panic in his gut show on his face. Not his contact, then. "Yes I was. Are you a reporter?"

"Not exactly," she said. "Do you mind if I sit down?"

"Actually I do," he said apologetically. "I'm waiting for someone."

She shrugged. "That's a shame. I'd love to ask you a few questions."

He frowned. "Now why would you want to do that if you're not a reporter?"

"Just call me a concerned citizen," she replied. She was about to turn to leave when she stopped and looked back at him. "You're not bad looking either, Mr. Steele... tell you what, I'll buy you dinner tomorrow night if you'll sate a woman's curiosity."

Dallas sighed. "Look, miss, I don't-..."

He was cut off as the man who had to be his contact walked up. "Mr. Steele," he said, dipping his head. Then he turned to the woman. "Who is this?"

"She was just leaving," Dallas said pointedly.

The woman set a folded piece of paper on the table, and leaned in close. Dallas got lost for a moment in the smell of her - some kind of flower, he thought, but couldn't identify it. "Think about it," she whispered, then turned and walked away.

"What was that all about?" the other man asked, taking a seat across from him.

"I have no idea," Dallas replied, pocketing the paper. "Now, let's get to business."

Thirty minutes later, Dallas walked out of the restaurant and hailed a cab. On the ride back to his apartment, he idly toyed with the piece of paper in his pocket. Who was that woman? Either she was lying and really was a reporter... or she had some other reason for wanting to know about the Payday gang. Either way, he wasn't keen on the idea of being grilled about it. But if he didn't take her up on the offer, she might get suspicious, and he would never figure out what she was after.

And he had to admit she wasn't hard on the eyes. It had been months since he'd gotten laid... the career criminal lifestyle didn't exactly lend itself to dating.

He shook his head, quickly squashing that idea. There was a _reason_ they didn't date. No outside attachments that could be used against them, no possible security leaks. So he would find out what she was after, give her what small tidbits of information he could to satisfy her without giving himself away, and then go his merry way and never see or hear from her ever again.

And if he got a little action out of the deal, well, all the better.

~~o~~

Their "date" - although if you called it that, Dallas might injure you - took place in Sherping Memorial Park. Dallas idly scanned the pavement for skid marks as he walked in, but found none. They'd done a pretty good job cleaning the place up since Dallas and his crew hit the Gensec convoy here.

The woman was sitting on a bench and looked up as he approached. "Oh, Mr. Steele," she said, standing up and smiling. "I almost thought you wouldn't show up."

Dallas put on his best smile. "Call me Nathan." Tilting his head, he added "And I believe you have the advantage on me."

"Yes, of course," she said, dimpling. "How could I forget? My name's Amanda."

"Well then, Amanda," Dallas said, taking a seat on the bench and motioning for her to sit next to him. "Why are you so interested in the First World Bank hit?"

She hesitated. "I've been following the Payday gang for a while now. This is the first time I've been able to talk to someone who's come face-to-face with them."

"Why me?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Why not one of the other employees?"

"Honestly?" she said. "Because I found you first."

He nodded. "Fair enough. What do you want to know?"

"Well, as we all know, there are four of them. Dallas, Wolf, Chains, and Hoxton, right?"

He nodded. "Yeah, that's pretty much common knowledge."

"Right. What were they like in person?" she asked.

He barked a laugh. "I was a little preoccupied with the gun barrel being shoved into my face to make small-talk."

She flushed. "Right, of course. Sorry. It must have been terrifying."

He nodded. "It was. Now, if I'm not mistaken, there was going to be dinner involved?"

She held up a finger. "I said if you sate my curiosity. It hasn't been sated yet."

He frowned. "What else is there I can say?"

"Well first of all," she said, "I took a look at what security footage survived. The gang managed to sabotage most of it, but there were a few good shots left. I saw you on the second floor a minute before they arrived, but later you're gone and I can't find you anywhere. What happened?"

He licked his lips. "One of them - the one with the American flag on his face... I think that's Dallas? - hit me in the face, ziptied me and shoved me into a closet right before the police showed up."

She winced. "Well, at least you'll have a good story to-"

She was cut off as his phone rang. Muttering apologies, he fished it out of his pocket and looked at the number. It was one of several numbers that belonged to Bain. They changed every week, and as far as he knew, only the four members of the crew had access to them.

"Sorry, I need to take this," he said, standing up and thumbing the 'answer' button. "Hey, Jeff," he said, with a smile for Amanda's benefit. "How'd that meeting go?" It was a code they'd established for 'I can't talk right now.'

"Your apartment in twenty minutes," Bain said. "Be there."

"Sure thing, buddy," Dallas said. "Thanks for letting me know. I'll see you at the bar tomorrow?"

Bain hung up.

"I'm really sorry," he said, slipping the phone back into his pocket, "But my boss needs me back in the office. A big account from China arrived early and he wants me in the meeting."

Amanda nodded. "That's okay. We can talk more over dinner tonight, like I promised. Call me?"

"Will do," Dallas said, and walked away.

Dallas closed the door of his apartment behind him, pausing to slide the three bolt locks back into position. He walked over to his desk and roused his computer from sleep, sliding into the leather office chair and scratching at his five o'clock shadow in thought.

He glanced at his watch. 3:04. Eighteen minutes since Bain's call.

At 3:06 on the dot, there came a knock at his door. Walking over, he glanced out through the peephole to see none other than Hoxton standing outside. Disengaging the locks, he opened the door and glanced around. "You weren't followed, were you?" he asked.

"Please," Hoxton replied, slipping past him into the apartment. "Who do you think I am?"

"Just making sure." Dallas closed the door, locking it once more. "Now what's all this about?"

"What's the matter? We interrupt your date?" Hoxton asked with a sneer, dropping onto the nearest couch.

Dallas blinked. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Right, of course." Hoxton reached into his pocket, fishing out a keycard and dropping it onto the table. "But you may be interested to know that while you were off playing bachelor, I was getting work done."

"Can it, little brother," Dallas warned, taking a seat opposite the other heister. "What's that for?"

"Our next job," Hoxton replied. "Bain's lined up a nice little score for us in the harbor. Supposed to be a big shipment of gold arriving by boat tonight. It's gonna be stored in a secure warehouse overnight before being moved on by armored car to God only knows where."

"And the keycard is for what, the warehouse security room?" Dallas asked.

"Correct." Hoxton glanced at his watch, then nodded towards Dallas's computer. "Bain's forwarding the info to your secure address. Might want to take a look if you want in on the planning. I hear you like that sort of thing."

Dallas smirked. "You heard right, little brother. I'll take a look and see what I can do. When are we heading over there?"

"We have a six-hour window, from midnight until dawn. When exactly we leave and how we arrive is to be determined. So you might want to get started."


End file.
